


Ain’t Gonna Cut Ya

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:24:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a new home comes new realizations, and a chance to look to the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain’t Gonna Cut Ya

**Author's Note:**

> I've been threatening to write some Rickyl for ages. It finally happened, and seemed an apt way to celebrate the imminent return of Season 6.

Old habits die hard.

Even behind the supposedly secure walls of Alexandria, the survival instinct now so strong in Rick never quite switched off. He could relax a little, sure. Sometimes even convince himself that letting Carl out of his sight for a while was perfectly safe. But a part of his subconscious remained ever vigilant, constantly on the alert, tuned to pick up on the first indication that something was amiss.

Which was why the sounds from the kitchen, as soft as they were, had him instantly awake and padding downstairs to investigate. The chances of a walker having broken through the barriers unnoticed were slim, but danger didn’t always present itself in the guise of the dead.

Hand on the butt of his Python, Rick approached the kitchen with ingrained wary caution, tension coiling in his muscles when he saw a human silhouette, that disturbingly familiar fight-or-flight reaction surging through him only to recede in the next heartbeat as his eyes adjusted to the low light.

He would recognize that figure anywhere, even in the dead of night.

Daryl.

His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, pulled down to bare his left shoulder, the angles of his face thrown into sharp relief by the watery yellow light cast by the lantern set on the table in front of him. He gave no reaction to Rick’s appearance in the doorway. Must’ve heard him coming.

“You’re back.” Dumb thing to say. It was the relief talking, the weight lifting from his shoulders now he knew Daryl was safe. The man was more than capable of taking care of himself, but a restless anxiety buzzed in Rick’s veins each and every time he was out on a run. Not being there, by his side, made those days almost unendurable.

Rick knew better than to expect conversation, but the soft grunt of confirmation was good to hear. Daryl offered nothing more and anyone else would have left him alone, deterred by his sullen silence, but something held Rick in place, close.

Only when Daryl moved his hand to press a torn piece of cloth to the back of his shoulder did Rick drag his gaze away from his face, finally noticing the open first aid kit and the scatter of gauze scraps spread across the tabletop, all stained dark crimson with blood.

There was that familiar wave of fear, the almost physical punch to his gut at the sight of an injury, the dread that lay heavy his chest until he could be sure there was no bite.

“What happened?” His voice sounded steadier than he felt inside.

“Got snagged.” Like it was nothing.

Rick took a step forward, drawn by a need to confirm Daryl’s indifference wasn’t misplaced. If it had been a bite, he would’ve said, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something worth worrying about. “Why don’t ya let me take a look?”

“’M fine.” The mumbled assertion wasn’t at all convincing. “’S nothin’.”

“Don’t look like nothin’.” Rick inclined his head toward the bloodstained rag. “An’ I’m pretty sure you can’t see what you’re doin’.”

The frown that creased between Daryl’s brows told Rick he was right, and that Daryl knew it. Rick waited under the scrutiny of narrowed, unreadable eyes, and was about to resign himself to receiving no answer when Daryl’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he granted muttered consent.

“’Kay.”

Daryl barely flinched as Rick cleaned and dressed the wound, but tensed when he tugged his shirt a little lower to move it out of the way. Rick could guess the reason for his discomfort, but it wasn’t the old scars, the silent yet eloquent evidence of Daryl’s past, that triggered a dull ache in Rick’s heart, but the raw, jagged gash torn into his flesh.

The past— _before_ —meant nothing now, while each fresh wound was a stark reminder of just how tenuous their hold on life now was, how easily the ledge on which they were all perched could crumble.

Rick’s worry eased as he worked. It wasn’t so bad, just a helluva lot of blood. Must’ve hurt like a bitch, but you wouldn’t know to look at Daryl, his stoic demeanor still firmly in place, unfazed.

A fresh patch of gauze taped into place, Rick let his hands fall away. Daryl instantly shrugged his shirt back up over his shoulder, head bowed as he worked the buttons back together.

“Thanks, man.”

The words were a mumble, but the sentiment behind them was genuine. He raised his head to offer a nod of gratitude only to jerk away when Rick, unthinking, reached out to examine the blood matted into the hair at his temple.

Hands raised in placating apology, Rick took a step back, out of Daryl’s space. “Looks like ya took a hit there, too.”

Daryl curiously poked at his head, wincing when his fingers found the wound. Like he didn’t even remember it happening. Maybe he didn’t.

Rick waited. Daryl knew his offer of aid was still open, was more likely to accept if he wasn’t pushed.

After a moment, he raised his chin, granting silent permission.

With gentle fingers, Rick brushed Daryl’s hair aside, tilted his head toward the light. Tense but compliant, Daryl sat obediently through more of Rick’s inexpert treatment. It was only a small split in the skin at his hairline, already clotted, bordered by the faint trace of a bruise. Rick wiped away the dried blood, carefully avoiding the cut itself.

Satisfied, he backed off again, fingers tingling with the warmth of Daryl’s skin. Daryl grunted thanks without meeting his eyes and started clearing away the supplies and mess from the table. A display of domestic consideration that would have appeared out of character to anyone outside their group.

“Glad you’re back.” 

Daryl froze, but it was Rick who was most surprised by the statement he had unexpectedly spoken aloud, and he waited for Daryl’s derisive snort.

But maybe Daryl could see the residual worry behind his eyes, the nervous tension that always resided there and only began to fade when he had Daryl back safe, there in front of him in one piece, living proof.

“Always come back, don’ I?”

“Dunno what I’d do if ya didn’t.”

Daryl’s head snapped up, a brief glimpse of confused eyes behind that curtain of hair, gray in the low light.

“You’d survive, Rick. Like ya always do. I don’ make no difference.”

“You do.” Now the gate had opened, Rick needed Daryl to know, to understand. “More’n you know.”

A grunt. “Right. Need someone ’s on yer side.”

“That ain’t what I meant.”

Daryl straightened, eyes narrowed in a challenge. “Naw?”

And Rick faltered. He didn’t have the words to express exactly what Daryl meant to him, how he would never have gotten this far without his steady presence, how without Daryl by his side he would crumble.

How it had taken him until now to realize just how much he needed him.

He hesitated too long. Daryl turned away with a scoff of humorless laughter.

A flash of insight. How had Rick not seen it before? He’d assumed Daryl’s discomfort stemmed from a dislike of being touched, of baring his scars, but perhaps there was something else behind that unease. Something Daryl could never voice and Rick had been too blind to see.

Surging forward, Rick grabbed Daryl by the wrist, stopping him short just before he reached the door. Daryl spun around in surprise, anger flashing across his features.

“The fuck—” His exclamation was cut short as Rick dragged him into a kiss, hard and rough, with none of the finesse he had been aiming for. Thin, dry lips shifted beneath his in silent surprise, sealing shut against Rick’s clumsy advance.

A strangled growl, deep in Daryl’s throat, and then hands shoved at his shoulders. Daryl tore away, and Rick reeled back, heart pounding, bracing himself for a blow that didn’t come.

Mouth twisted into an angry snarl, Daryl was already throwing up his defenses, but not quickly enough. Rick caught the flash of hurt that flared behind his eyes, and something else, something even more fleeting, vanished in a heartbeat. Hope.

“Daryl—”

He was speaking to empty air. Daryl was gone.

* * * *

He hadn’t gone far. Rick found him leaning on his elbows on the porch rail, a cigarette between his lips, squinting through the curl of smoke out onto the moonlit street.

“I’m sorry,” Rick ventured, fully expecting the apology to be thrown back in his face, but needing to say it. “If I read it wrong.”

Daryl gave no sign of having heard. He took another slow drag of the cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs. Rick sighed, more dismay than frustration, scrubbed a hand across his face, and hoped like hell he hadn’t fucked up one of the strongest friendships he’d ever forged.

“Come back inside.”

Daryl sniffed, attention still focused on a distant shadow. A minute of tense silence passed agonizingly slowly, Rick’s hope of getting any kind of response diminishing with every second. Lost in dismay, he almost missed Daryl’s gruff question.

“Why?”

“You’ve been out there a week. You must be—”

“Naw. I meant…” Daryl waved a hand at the house. Rick caught his meaning instantly.

“Oh. Right. Yeah. I thought…” Rick knew he was treading uncertain ground. “I thought it’s what you wanted?”

Rick expected an immediate denial, a snarled assertion that Daryl _ain’t no fuckin’ fag_. He was surprised by the soft sigh, clear in the still night.

“Ain’t ’bout me. Ain’t gotta do what ya don’t wanna.”

Rick blinked at what was, essentially, a confession, and hurried to find his voice. “But I do. I want this.” I want _you_.

“This ain’t you, Rick.” Flat, betraying no emotion. “I seen the way you look at that blonde chick.”

Rick could’ve kicked himself. He’d made such a mess of this, of trying to figure out their new life. What could be. What _was_.

“I thought Jessie was what I wanted. I was wrong.”

“An’ now ya want _me_?” Daryl scoffed. “You done lost yer mind again.”

“I gotta be mad to like you?” The opposite was closer to the truth; Rick was finally seeing clearly for the first time. But it had taken him so damn long to realize it he wasn’t surprised Daryl didn’t believe him.

Daryl couldn’t see Rick’s frown, but he must have heard it in his voice. “Reckon ya do. Ain’t a helluva lot to like.”

The complete absence of self-worth had Rick’s heart aching in his chest. He’d even taken a step forward before catching himself, stopping before he could do something dumb like pull Daryl into a hug, wanting to somehow prove to Daryl he was wrong. There was plenty to like, thousands of reasons Rick had finally listened to what his heart had been telling him for months.

Daryl was loyal, brave, selfless to a fault.

He was the reason Rick was still alive.

The desire to take the next step, venture into uncharted territory, scared Rick more than he’d ever admit, but he couldn’t deny its presence. In this new world there was no time for _maybes_ , no second chances. It was grab, hold onto, and fight for what you wanted.

What you _needed_.

But the decision wasn’t his alone to make.

“You don’t want this, just say, an’ I’ll go back in there an’ forget about it. Nothin’ has to change. But if you do…” He let the offer hang in the cool night air, there for the taking. If only Daryl would look at him, give him some kinda clue. Here he was, laying himself bare, putting his heart on the line, and he had no idea what Daryl was thinking, whether he was making an ass of himself.

He was about to give up, starting to wonder if forgetting about it could be as easy as he’d made out, when Daryl moved. Taking one last, slow drag, he tossed the butt of his cigarette away and straightened, finally turning to face Rick, but his eyes were lost in shadow, his expression unreadable.

“You gon’ kiss me or jus’ stand there starin’?”

It took a few seconds for Rick to convince himself he’d heard correctly, that he wasn’t just imagining Daryl’s words, but then he was moving, one hand sliding around the back of Daryl’s neck and into his hair, cupping his head as he came close.

Daryl’s gaze never left Rick’s face, watching him with a mixture of wary caution and trust, fearing a trick but certain Rick would never do that to him. It was a mark of how deep that trust ran that Daryl didn’t turn tail and flee as Rick brought them together in a kiss.

Daryl didn’t react, not right away, but neither did he pull away, standing tense but passive until Rick probed the seam of his mouth with his tongue. His lips parted, tongue tentatively meeting Rick’s, and the small flutter of panic in Rick’s chest instantly quelled. Daryl tasted of smoke, and the scruff of his sparse beard caught against Rick’s late-night stubble, but it was perfect.

It was Daryl who deepened the kiss, arching forward into Rick, hands coming up to tangle in his shirt. Rick curled his free hand around Daryl’s hip, holding him in place, and this time his touch wasn’t rejected. Heat built between them, flames sparking inside and everywhere they touched, and Rick welcomed the warmth.

It was desire, need. It was _life_.

They remained joined as time fell still around them. In that moment it was almost possible to believe there was no threat beyond those walls, and maybe it was dangerous to risk more heartache, to invite it back into their lives, maybe Rick was nothing but a damn fool. But if he was sure of just one thing, it was that it was a risk worth taking.

A small haven from the horrors of hell.

Several long minutes later they broke apart, gasping for air, and Daryl ducked his head, obscuring his eyes behind his bangs. But rather than moving away as Rick expected, he dropped his head to Rick’s shoulder, hands still fisted tightly in his shirt, either trying to push Rick away or keep him close. Or both.

“I ain’t no good at this shit, Rick.”

Rick almost laughed. His own track record in the relationship department was a train wreck, a disaster Daryl had witnessed first hand. But this time, now, he was going to get it right.

He nudged Daryl’s head up, brushed his hair aside so he could look him in the eyes.

“We’ll figure it out together.” The hope in his heart was mirrored in Daryl’s eyes, timid and fragile but daring to surface. “Yeah?”

Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver, searching and assessing as he chewed on his lip in thought, and Rick knew he must see his heart, laid open and bare, written on his face.

He didn’t need words to know Daryl’s answer, could read it in his eyes even before Daryl’s small nod. But the hoarse _yeah_ , whispered yet irrefutable confirmation, made his heart leap. Moments of true happiness were few and far between now, and all the more exhilarating for their rarity.

None of them could predict what the future held, but if this could be one small part of it, it was worth fighting for.

Daryl’s fingers unfurled, palms pressing flat to Rick’s chest before sliding down to rest at his hips, offering and accepting, with Rick on this as with everything else in this world.

In the _after_ that just might become a _future_.

Rick pressed another kiss to Daryl’s lips, soft, sweet, the sealing of a promise. They would face this as they faced everything: together.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The Heavy's 'Short Change Hero'.


End file.
